City of Heroes
by thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Alternate universe. *Oliver Queen wants nothing more than to fulfill his father's dying wish and take Starling City back from the rich elite. But he didn't expect Felicity Smoak.* A story that shows another way Oliver and Felicity could have met. A gift!fic for all of my readers. Thank you for Technical Assistance's 9000 hits on AO3 and 200 reviews on FanFiction! Complete.


**Title: City of Heroes  
Word Count: 2579**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Arrow, I'd be writing Season 3 episodes right now instead of fanfiction.**

**Notes: **I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HAPPENED. In my defense, it felt like a _great_ idea at midnight last night. I started writing it this morning, though, and decided that _maybe_ it was a little ridiculous. Anyway, as thank you/punishment for the love on _Technical Assistance_, here's the story. I'll let you be the judge. If you'd like to leave a comment/review, it's much appreciated, but, if you just want to read, much appreciated! ;)

**Also, at the end, you'll find my playlist for this one-shot.** These are the songs that inspired me to write, so, well, I blame them for this mess. :P

* * *

The first time Oliver notices it is just after his first mission is successfully completed. He walks into his new base of operations and sits down at his computer, ready to use that arrow to return the forty million dollars to Starling City's pensioners. For the first time in his life, he feels like he's doing something worthwhile, so he can't help but feel a little proud of himself. He stopped Adam Hunt—and he did it on his own, with an assist from an arrow capable of hacking Hunt's servers.

But when he sits down to transfer funds out of Hunt's account, he's surprised to find it recently drained—all one hundred sixty million dollars—via his own arrow. It's an impressive trick, since he has been told that the tech in that arrow is untraceable and unhackable. Since it was his arrow and his tech, he's able to trace it back. Forty million of it—the number he had told Hunt—is now in pensioners' accounts, as promised, and the other one hundred twenty million was transferred to several charitable organizations whose goals are to clean up the Glades and to provide shelter and food for the homeless.

It gives him a lot to think about. He could return the money and steal only what he said he would for the pensioners' accounts, _or_ he could allow the money to benefit the city in the way it should. The Glades are certainly in need of refurbishment, and he's seen quite a few homeless persons on the street. At least the money isn't funding corrupt politicians and Hunt's insane spending any longer. So he decides that it serves as a fitting reminder as to what happens to those who cross Starling City's Vigilante. Adam Hunt _will_ remember that Starling City has a savior.

It's just a shame it's not Oliver.

* * *

The second time he notices, he's in trouble. After a fight with the leader of the Triad and a very close call with a police officer, he decides it's time to leave. He travels across the docks at breakneck speed, only to find himself cornered by none other than Detective Lance.

"Drop the bow," he growls. "There's no way out, and, if you make a move, I won't hesitate to put a bullet in you." Oliver doesn't doubt that he will; Lance hates the Vigilante almost as much as he hates Oliver.

And Oliver knows it doesn't look good. There's no way he can draw a bow so quickly that he can avoid getting shot, and he doesn't particularly want to injure Detective Lance, either. The two may not see eye to eye, but Oliver has always seen attacking a cop as a line that he wouldn't cross. He's trying to _help_ the police by taking down Starling City's worst, not by provoking them any further into being his enemies. For a moment, it really seems like the end of his short career, and he accepts it. He was never the Vigilante to be a hero; he just wanted to fulfill his father's dying wish. And he knows that hasn't been careful enough to continue doing that. He's going to be a failure in this, too, just as he is in everything else.

Without any warning whatsoever, Oliver can hear the sound of an arrow flying through the air, and he knows he's the target. But he's mistaken; the shot is impressive, sliding through the trigger area of Lance's gun, tearing it from the Detective's hand and pinning it to the side of a shipping container. He takes the opportunity to bolt from the scene, but he does glance at the arrow as he passes. It has some sort of device on it, which would have altered the flight path. Whomever shot that arrow is an amazing shot—possibly with skills on par with his own. Whoever it is, Oliver's pretty sure they also make their own arrows.

Unless, of course, there's a company that _makes_ arrows that shade of fuchsia.

* * *

It's the third time when he _finally_ figures out what's going on. He's just watched Deadshot—or Floyd Lawton—run through the window and make his escape. Frustrated, Oliver turns to see what is salvageable from the room, looking for anything that could indicate what Lawton is planning. He pulls up short, though, when he sees a boy tuck Lawton's laptop under his arm.

He can't get a good glance at the kid, other than seeing the back of him. He has short black hair and is wearing a red hoodie, with the hood pulled up, and jeans, and he's already out of the building before Oliver can react. He has no doubt that the kid has done this a time or two; he moves like a professional thief, even as young as Oliver believes him to be. But that doesn't matter because it doesn't change the facts.

The kid just stole whatever possible leads could be in the room. Knowing that his target is long gone by now, Oliver decides to head back to the base, to perform some Internet searches on Deadshot and the kid.

After a few hours, he finds nothing on Lawton that the Russians didn't already know, so he decides to look into cybercrimes in Starling City for the past few years. Clearly he's missed something, and he wonders if he should probably know who the kid is. The search leads him to an active cyber criminal from the past few years. Apparently, Oliver isn't the only one who decided to make Starling City's elite pay for their crimes because someone calling himself Nemesis has been hacking into accounts and giving money to charity for three years. And now, Oliver is convinced that he's encountered the work of Nemesis for the past three missions.

Suddenly, Oliver's phone—the one he bought solely for Vigilante purposes—starts ringing. It's unusual for it to ring because, well, he hasn't given the number to anyone. In fact, it's supposedly encrypted with all sorts of perks, including a voice synthesizer that masks his identity. "Hello?" he answers carefully, knowing that, whatever it is, it can't be good.

"I see you've been looking into me, hotshot," the mystery caller replies, with a synthesized voice as well. When Oliver doesn't immediately answer, the voice continues, "Don't worry—I don't plan on telling anyone where your little base is. I just wanted you to know I've been looking into you, as well."

"Who are you?" he responds abruptly, not liking the mind games whoever-it-is happens to be playing. After all, _he_ called Oliver, not the other way around.

A chuckle resounds from the other end, and, without warning, his cursor on screen starts moving of its own accord. Instead of digging into his files, though, it runs over and highlights the name in the title of the article he'd been reading. _Nemesis_. "_That's_ who I am. Did you listen to your history teacher in high school? If not, I bet you don't understand the significance of the name." He doesn't know whether he should be insulted or intrigued by the information he's being given. "Nemesis was the name the Ancient Greeks gave to their goddess of divine retribution. _That's_ who I am. Starling City's elite and criminals have been preying on the Glades for too long. So I stop them."

"You're a woman," he says, making the obvious conclusion. "You used my arrow to hack Adam Hunt. You stopped Detective Lance from putting me in jail, and you took that laptop."

"Smarter than I thought," she replies easily, confirming all of his suspicions. "I saved you. That means you owe me. And now I need you to pay your debt."

"I'm not doing anything for you," he retorts hotly. He's not her errand boy; he's the Vigilante, and he doesn't need her help to fight the disease infecting his city.

"I have the laptop you want," she says, cutting through all the bullshit and simultaneously silencing his protests. "But that laptop doesn't do you any good on its own—you can't hack it." He doesn't like the all-knowing tone to her voice, but he can't deny the truth in her words. "So, more importantly, I have the information from that laptop." A sigh rattles through the connection. "But I'm a hacker, not a vigilante, so it doesn't do me any damn good." A pause before she says the words as if they're painful, "I'm suggesting a partnership. I help you, you help me. You need me to hack the criminals you can't catch, and I need you to put a stop to the criminals I can't hack."

He can't believe he's says it, but, somehow, the words, "Let's call it a partnership, then," leave his mouth. He doesn't know what compels him to agree, but he knows that she's right. He's not a computer genius; he doesn't know how to hack. But, then again, she may be able to fire a bow, but she doesn't exactly know how to fight. They complement each other—brains and brawn, yin and yang.

"Thought you'd see it my way, hotshot," she says, and he thinks she may be excited, though her synthesized voice doesn't reflect it. "As a sign of good faith, I'll tell you that Deadshot's laptop contained blueprints for the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place." She must still have control of his computer because, after a moment of downloading data, the blueprints in question appear. "The last two guys he's taken out, Rasmussen and Holder, were competing for UI. The laptop is registered to Warren Patel—another bidder—so it's likely that he's orchestrated the whole thing to stop the auction. Sounds like trouble, doesn't it?"

It does. Oliver knows the area, and he knows that there are four good sniper perches on the surrounding buildings. Deadshot could have his pick of opportunities, and, even with the assist from Nemesis, he knows he can't do it alone. "Too much trouble for one person," he says finally. "I'm going to need help, and, to get that, I need that laptop."

"Depends what you're going to do with it," she says after a long pause, her voice low and hesitant. He can tell she doesn't like this at all, but he doesn't see any way around it.

"It's time to repay Detective Lance for his kindness," is his response, and Oliver doesn't offer anything more. Lance's vendetta with both of his personalities have nothing to do with her, and she hasn't yet earned his trust.

Still, he's surprised when she chuckles and says, "Oh, I'm in. Lance is a good cop, but he can be a pain. He's been on my trail a few times, too." She throws up a map on his computer screen, locking a green set of concentric circles over a location. "That's an abandoned industrial factory on the corner of Ninth and Beacon. Meet me there in two hours."

"Do you really think you're safe to travel in the Glades at two a.m.?" he asks, but doesn't know why. Her safety is no concern of his. But, yet, it is, if they're in this partnership together, then he has a certain amount of obligation toward her. He knows that, statistically, she's young and probably well-educated—not at all the kind of girl who survives well in the Glades at night. Hell, most nights, _Oliver_ doesn't survive well in the Glades.

"Well, it's nice to know chivalry isn't dead, but I don't need your protection," she replies, her tone a little sharp, and it's clear that he's offended her. "And, besides, that's what arrows are for. I could pin those pretty tight pants of yours to a wall, if I chose to—and my arrow wouldn't even touch skin." Before he can even register that she's flirting with him, she repeats, "Ninth and Beacon. Two a.m. Don't be late, or I'll be gone." The call ends there, as she disconnects—both from his phone and his computer.

For the first time, Oliver thinks he might have gotten himself into far more trouble than he bargained for.

* * *

At precisely two in the morning, Oliver walks into the building Nemesis told him about, and it boasts several hiding places. He expects her to be behind one of the concrete columns, mocking him, at any moment. He's surprised, though, to see her standing in the middle of the building, sitting atop an old assembly line conveyor as if she owns the world. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, and she wears all black, with a black hood pulled over her face. She's smaller than he expected, almost fragile. Her only identifying feature is blonde hair, which pours out of her hood.

When she hears his approach and looks up, he can see a black mask over her features, her lipstick as bold as her choice in arrows, both the same shade of fuchsia. Though she threatened him earlier with an arrow, there's no bow at her side. She leans back on her hands, arms spread wide as she balances her weight in a casual manner. "Hey, hotshot," she says, and he's surprised to find she isn't masking her voice with a synthesizer for this conversation.

Surprised, he takes a step forward, but a black crossbow bolt flies right next to his neck. "Oh," she says, as if she's forgotten, "I should probably mention that I brought a friend. Red, don't be shy—say hello to the Hood."

"Hello," says a masculine voice, from everywhere and nowhere at once. He's clearly hidden up in the rafters somewhere, where he can see Oliver but where Oliver can't see him. He'd bet money that "Red" is the guy that pulled the laptop from Deadshot's apartment.

"Red's not a crack shot yet," she continues, "but he's learning. Quick study, but we're sticking to a crossbow in the field until he can hit the center of a dime in the air." In a lithe movement, she hops off the assembly line counter and picks up the laptop next to her, holding it up. "I believe this is the item you wanted. It's decrypted, so they should be able to access everything—even if it _is_ amateur hour at the SCPD." To his surprise, she approaches him, putting it in his gloved hands. "Try not to get yourself in trouble, hotshot," she says over her shoulder as she turns on her heel. I won't be there to bail you out this time."

He watches her take a few steps in the opposite direction before asking, "How will I contact you?"

"Miss me already?" she asks before turning back to him, her lips turned up in a smile. She pulls out a phone, tinkers with it a moment, and then says, "You have my number now. Call me if you need me. Good luck out there, _hero_." She adds ironic emphasis to the word, and Oliver can't fight the frown this time. He doesn't like being played. He doesn't like being one-upped. And he most certainly does _not_ like this hacker.

Even if she _does_ wear a pair of skinny jeans exceptionally well.

* * *

Inspirations for this:

"The Last of the American Girls" - Green Day  
"The Only One" - Evanescence  
"Dangerous" - Within Temptation feat. Howard Jones  
"Borderland" - Mami Kawada  
"Revenge is Sweeter (Than You Ever Were)" - The Veronicas  
"Modern Love" - David Bowie  
"Radioactive" - Within Temptation


End file.
